Red
by Appreciates Fine Labrats
Summary: Greg and a child are involved in an explosion. He'll have to learn to live with the consequences if he wants to feel like himself again.
1. Twenty Bucks

**It was a one shot, but I felt an urge to have multiple chapters..not sure why. That's why they'll be small.**

Greg stared at the paper in his hands, trying to wrap his mind around the puzzle it showed him. Something was there, something he should be seeing, and it was important. This printout could hold the key to solving the whole case, but it just wasn't coming to him. Greg frowned, chewing on his lip as he moved away from the machine and towards his chair.

It wasn't adding up. He sighed and turned away from the offending printout on his desk, readying himself to get back to his other work, when the answer struck him forcefully. He snatched the paper up again and stared down in mounting excitement at what was now so clear it stood out to him like a neon sign. Trembling, he jumped up and raced out of the room in the direction of the break room. On the way he passed Hodges' lab and skidded to a stop.

"Hodges!" he beamed, clapping the man on the back and eliciting a startled look. "I've solved the Red Can case!"

Hodges scowled and smoothed down his shirt as if it was wrinkled. "You've had more time to work on it, that's not surprising," he sniffed, turning away and busying himself with samples. "I've been working on important _current_ cases, in the meantime."

Greg laughed. He and Hodges had been working on this case off the clock for months now, even going so far as to place a friendly wager on its outcome, and Hodges was definitely not going to concede defeat without a few pot shots in Greg's direction.

"I can't wait to tell Griss," smiled Greg, looking around to the other labs. For the first time he noticed how quiet the place was. "Where is everyone?"

"They were called out to a case in Henderson," replied Hodges snippily. "Bomb squad was called out because they found explosive residue on some bodies."

Greg was heading out the door when he heard the last of Hodges' words. He stopped abruptly and turned back, staring in horror at Hodges.

"They found WHAT?" he almost shouted. Hodges looked up in shock, but Greg had already guessed the answer and bolted out the door towards the elevators. Hodges followed him as he rushed into an elevator, then shrugged and went back to work. He was still chapped that Greg had solved the case before him.


	2. Seven

"Come on, pick up, pick up!" muttered Greg into the receiver as he drove. When no one answered for the third time, he growled in exasperation and threw his phone at the passenger seat. It bounced and landed on the floor. Greg glared at it as he drove, worrying silently that he should have called for medics. But there were cops at the scene; if his friends needed help wouldn't they have called for it by now?

His scanner stayed silent on news about the team and he was hesitant to use it to contact Brass. Maybe he was just overreacting. True, the team might be in a dangerous situation, but with the bomb squad there and no news about an explosion, they must be safe. Even so, Greg drove slightly above the speed limit. He needed to tell them about the latest development in the case, especially since their call in the suburbs appeared to be the work of the Red Can killer, too.

#

As he arrived at the scene, Greg immediately understood why the whole team had been called out. It seemed they'd never finish with so much collecting to do. There were no ambulances and nothing seemed out of place, so Greg got out of the car more slowly. He looked around, taking in all the details he could about the street. Something nagged at him here, too. Something about the street seemed familiar, besides it being a suburb like all the other Red Can scenes. He thought back to the printout that held the key to unlocking the case, then ran through all the previous murders in his mind, starting with the first through to...this one! He started in shock. This was the seventh Red Can case. And what had the psych report said? Eyck had an unhealthy obsession with the number seven. It was a long shot, but Greg made it a point never to ignore his gut, despite Grissom's reservations, and something about this street screamed caution to him.

Greg headed towards the group of CSIs clustered around what was left of the bodies. He could see Catherine was there with Nick and Grissom. Warrick and Sara were further down the street, painstakingly picking up bits of flesh. It looked like the bodies had exploded from the inside out, judging from the bits of shrapnel and detritus littering the street and most of the block of houses.

While walking, he caught something out of the corner of his eye that made his pulse quicken. Now the reason for his disquiet became apparent. It was something he'd noticed only now — all the streets the killer picked had exactly seven houses, and this was no exception.

A young boy, dark skinned and gangly, came out of the central house on the block carrying a red garbage can that was almost larger than him. Crime scene photos from the past six homicides flashed through Greg's mind. He remembered the odd red trash can in the exact middle of the street that none of the home owners claimed to own. But this time something was going to happen, he knew it. All the other times had only been warnings. And Greg knew exactly what would happen if the boy put down the can; the psych eval had confirmed it.

"Hey!" Greg shouted at the boy, switching his direction abruptly and racing towards him.

The CSIs turned in surprise at his voice.

"What's he doing?" asked Nick.

"Get out of here!" shouted Greg at them as he ran. "It's a trap!" He reached out frantically for the small boy just as he put the can down, snatching him up into his arms and running for a few hundred yards.

A roaring sound assaulted his ears and he instinctively ducked his head, covering the small body with his own as a shock wave threw him to the ground. Greg shuddered with memories. He felt the same flash of heat, bitter acrid smell, and jolting contact with the ground as before. Through it all Greg had the presence of mind to clutch desperately at the small body, cradling it under him while the ferocious heat of the fire beat at his back. It screamed at him in agony and tingling black soot clogged his nostrils and eyes. He lay still, unable to move a muscle. Something had hit him in several places and blood seeped out of him at an alarming rate. Whatever it was must still be lodged inside him, because if he so much as moved a hair his wounds stretched open wider. He whimpered in agony.

It must be pieces of the metal can, thought Greg sluggishly. Whatever adrenaline he'd produced had disappeared in the explosion and he was on the verge of total collapse. Hot pavement made impressions in his cheek as he wavered in and out of consciousness, wondering if he was hurting the boy by lying on top of him or if he'd cradled his head enough. The sudden contact with pavement had broken his arm. Greg sighed, and, convinced pain had finally won the battle to lead him into death, succumbed to unconsciousness.


	3. Two Pairs

**Whoops! I added the wrong chapter first ;P So now you get two extra chapters..**

Nick clutched his head as the last shock waves rumbled through the pavement. When he stopped feeling heat blasting along his arms and face, he cautiously lifted his head from the searing pavement. The others were beginning to rise, so he pressed his palms down and pushed himself up. Greg's yell had given them just enough time to hit the ground. Nick's heart constricted in fear for him — had he made it in time? Nick could only remember a brief flash of red and a dash of black before the explosion had ripped open a large chunk of the neighbourhood and he'd been forced to drop. Now he could only see a great plume of black smoke and frantic scurrying from the people closest to the blast. Nick raced towards them, not caring if it was safe or not.

Reaching the site first, Warrick waved his arms in front of his face to clear some of the smoke, ignoring yells of warning from the rest of his team. Coughing slightly from the burnt particles in the air, he finally glimpsed what he was looking for just as Nick reached him. They advanced together, and despite himself Warrick's eyes watered at the sight. Greg lay sprawled on the ground, his entire back a mess of burnt and tattered clothing and dark spots that looked suspiciously like blood. Nick shouted something at him and Warrick snapped back into focus. He was gesturing to the body — no, it wasn't a body, it was Greg — and for the first time Warrick noticed that more than one figure was tangled up on the ground. Were those small legs kicking under Greg's weight? His arms were protectively cradled around a small body that Nick was now trying to disengage and Warrick remembered that Greg had been sprinting for the young boy before...

Warrick shook himself, setting his jaw and hurrying to help Nick extricate the boy. Greg's grip on him was surprisingly firm, though impact with the ground had broken several bones in his arms. By now Catherine and Sara had arrived with Grissom, and Nick allowed Catherine to crouch down with him beside Greg as Warrick carried the semi-conscious child out into the light.

At the sight of Greg's body, Sara bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. She took a shaking breath and fell to her knees beside his head. He looked awful, half dead. His eyes were closed and there was a pained expression on his face behind the sweat and soot. Paramedics were shouldering their way past her grimly and all she could do was run her hand through his hair while he was lifted onto a stretcher. His arm swung limply over the side.

"Oh God," she sobbed, burying her face in her hands. A comforting hand patted her on the shoulder and she took what solace she could from it, though there was little Grissom could do to ease her pain right now. Though he would have never wanted their relationship described that way, Greg had always been like a brother to her, and that thought brought a fresh wave of fear to her throat.

Sara looked for the first time past where Greg had lain and to the small figure being carried away by Warrick. Tears rose in her eyes again. Greg had saved the little boy, but at what cost to himself? Would he survive to reap his reward? Sighing, she turned to Grissom and awaited orders.


	4. Millions

Greg swam through interminable darkness. He wasn't dead, he could tell, but what awaited him when he woke up wasn't something he wanted to think about. Not again, at least. The scars would be familiar, the pain of healing still more. Sensation came back to him gradually until he once again resided in the space behind his closed lids. Under his fingers he could feel the smooth cotton of sheets and the familiar lethargy of hospital drugs trapping his body.

Truth be told, Greg was afraid to open his eyes. It was too much to hope that he'd be so lucky to escape unscathed a second time. As if the agony of watching your skin knit itself back together could leave one without mental scars. Still, Greg had an excellent idea of how badly it could have gone. He'd seen the bodies, seen the evidence enough times. He wondered how he looked. Was he in the burn ward? Swathed in bandages, like that woman who'd been incinerated almost to death. Maybe he was paralyzed...

This self pity is unbecoming, he mused drowsily. You're better than this, Sanders. But he was just so tired of being in hospitals. Greg stopped fighting his rising consciousness and allowed his eyes to flutter open.

He found himself on his side. In terms of agony he'd probably spent the equivalent of two lifetimes in that position. The room was dark and quiet and he blinked his eyes sluggishly. As before he couldn't feel his back, but this time the numbness extended down to his legs and all along his arms, which were both in casts. Greg stared ahead, trying to get used to the strange half-deadened feeling of being injured again, but he couldn't sustain his thoughts. It wasn't long before the drugs pulled him under again.


	5. Third Time's a Charm

The team had finally finished cataloguing their scene a second time and were headed to the hospital after dropping evidence back at the lab. They were all desperately tired, but none of them would hear of going home without seeing Greg. He was their first priority. The hospital was quiet this late in the afternoon, and they responded by instinctively speaking in hushed tones.

Greg was asleep, deep breathing filling the room as his friends silently filed inside and stood around awkwardly.

"Should we leave?" whispered Warrick, mindful of the many wires and bandages covering Greg. He was swathed in layers upon layers of gauze, sickly-looking ointments oozing from beneath. Warrick turned away slightly.

"He looks awful," shuddered Sara, averting her eyes as Warrick had.

Catherine lifted her eyes to Greg's pinched face. "Even the beating wasn't this bad," she sighed.

Everyone nodded in agreement, again wishing they could do something to help. Grissom stared intently at Greg, unable to say anything.

"I think we should leave, guys," murmured Nick. They were subdued now that the extent of damage could be seen.

Just then Greg let out a soft groan. His eyelids fluttered rapidly and opened to languid slits. Catherine found herself again staring into those sleepy and pain-filled eyes and her heart constricted painfully. Perhaps subconsciously, she lapsed into the tone she'd used when the accident was her fault. It was the same saccharine inflection everyone used when talking to the sick.

"Hey Greg, how are you feeling?"

He blinked at her in bemusement. Obviously he was on strong painkillers, so there was little point to their being there. Still they tried anyways.

"Greg you're a hero," said Warrick, matching Catherine's artificial cheer.

He didn't respond, and his eyes showed no indication that he cared. Sensing he wasn't in the mood to talk, they turned to leave.

"How...how bad is it?"

Unsure what he was referring to, they looked back at him.

"How bad is what, Greg?" asked Catherine softly, though she could begin to guess.

Greg turned his face into his pillow, trying to hide his embarrassment, but they could tell he was close to tears.

"My back...I can't feel my back," he cried into the pillow. "I can't feel anything."

Catherine took one look at his agonized face and was there in two great strides. Kneeling down beside the bed, face level with his, she tried to console him. "You'll be fine, Greg. It's just the painkillers; you'll get the feeling back soon."

Grissom motioned for the others to withdraw and they silently filed out, leaving Catherine alone with Greg. She stroked his hair gently. There was little space to touch, little that wasn't covered in gauze, and burnt skin extended all the way to his cheeks. She still felt some responsibility, as if by sheer force of will she could have prevented this from happening to her young friend. He was turned into the pillow, face contorted in a grimace.

"Let it out, Greg," she said softly, knowing there would be more.

"I remember how much it hurt, Cath," he sobbed reluctantly. "Now...now I'll have even more scars...scars everywhere..."

Catherine bit her lip as Greg gave voice to his fears. There was nothing she could do, nothing that would make it easier to deal with his situation, but even so she wished that she could help.

"I can't do it anymore," he trailed off weakly, clearly having spent his remaining energy. The drugs reclaimed him and he dropped off, eyelids too heavy to support themselves. He looked so much more innocent asleep, body limp and tears staining his cheeks, but in slumber his brow was still furrowed by tortured thoughts.

Catherine stood up, wiping her own cheeks quickly and composing herself. She walked to the door and slipped out, closing it softly and facing her waiting colleagues.

"Is he okay?" asked Nick immediately.

"He'll be fine, I think," sighed Catherine. "He's just emotional right now."

"The mayor called," said Grissom, stepping forward. "They want to give him a commendation. Will he be able to handle it?"

"Look, I don't know, ok?" cried Catherine. "It's up to him!"

She was more than a little upset, she realized, at seeing Greg in that condition. And though she'd tried to reassure them both, she knew recovery would be much more difficult than any of them could imagine.

"I gotta go," she ducked her head and left them quickly, wanting nothing more than to go home.

"Maybe the scars won't be so bad," she murmured to herself as she walked. Even to her ears the platitude sounded thin.


	6. One Other

Greg wasn't used to being a hero. It left one with decidedly less free time, he noticed, but everyone (and their mothers, it seemed) wanted to drop in and congratulate him, so he put up with it as best he could. Besides the fact that he couldn't move anywhere, he quite enjoyed not being vilified. He'd even been featured on the news in a positive light, which was a first, though being bedbound, still, and heavily swathed in bandages put a damper on the visits, and on his mood in general. Meeting his parents had been particularly hard. The sight of his mother bursting into tears on his father's shoulder left him more than a little rattled, yet all they could do was awkwardly tell her that everything would be fine. She merely sobbed harder, muttering repeatedly that her 'beautiful boy' was hurt again.

Greg tried to ignore the thoughts that inevitably plagued him about his appearance. From the way his doctors scurried around assessing the damage, and the numbing medications they continued to administer, he could only guess how bad the damage was. The last time he'd only had shards of glass to contend with, but Greg gathered that something rather large and foreign had been removed from his body; something metal that had ripped open a large chunk of skin. He wondered how he'd look with a piece of his back missing. There were many long and painful hours to while away during healing, and Greg wasn't above self-pity. It gave him something to occupy himself with, at least, since he couldn't use his arms.

After a few weeks he was finally allowed to see the one person he really wanted to meet. He'd been filled in on the story, or at least what the other CSIs had been able to piece together thanks to his timely discovery. Eyck asked the boy to take the trash out. Was it really so simple? Just trash. A red trash can filled with explosives, given to a random boy on a random street. What was Eyck's motive other than a sick love of toying with people? Greg wondered if he could ever get over what happened — this awful joke played on him by a cosmic force he didn't even believe in. He hoped Eyck had gotten a real kick from it, at least.

When the small child sidled nervously into the hospital room, followed by his mother, Greg was struck by the situation's irony. Ten years in the future, this kid could be Demetrius James, but again for Greg's involvement. He said nothing, waiting for the two visitors to make the first move. The woman's eyes widened at the sight of him — like everyone who'd come to visit him so far, she was bad at hiding her reaction. The little boy, though at second glance he wasn't small, merely retiring in nature, stared at him for some time. Suddenly he broke into a wide grin and ran to Greg's bedside, patting his arm enthusiastically. Greg hid his wince as broken bones protested, smiling gratefully at the boy instead. Perhaps he could take solace in saving this boy from a death that wasn't his.

"Emile, stop that. Can't you see he's hurt?" admonished the woman, taking Emile's hands into her own and holding them at her side. She looked down into his face. "What did we come here to say to the nice man?"

"Thank you for saving me," said Emile, smiling shyly.

Soon he squirmed away to stand behind his mother. She smiled apologetically at Greg. "He's a little shy."

Greg smiled back stiffly, still unsure how to act around them.

"Thank you so much for risking your life to save him," she continued, eyes shining and clutching her son tightly.

Greg shook his head slowly. "I'm just glad I could help," he whispered. "He deserves to live a long and happy life."

All too soon he was left alone with his thoughts, which no amount of commendations or heartfelt thanks could diminish. He sighed and carefully switched sides, allowing the painkillers to drag him down to sleep.


	7. Red

**Well, you could certainly read something into this if you wanted, if you get my drift. Alas, the bunny is gone and it's time to move on. Hope you enjoyed it, even if it was a bit of a departure from my usual style.**

The press conferences were done, the killer had been put away, and Greg's life was coming back to some semblance of order, at least to an outsider. He'd managed the commendation ceremony quite well, despite some of the private concerns of his fellow investigators, and he was back to work, though he wasn't the same Greg they'd known.

Something nagged at him, eating at him whatever he was doing — some great pain in his eyes that they couldn't breach.

As Greg had predicted, his skin knit itself back together eventually, though this time was more painful by far than after the first explosion. He'd had to hire a nurse upon leaving the hospital, unwilling as he was to let anyone he knew help him with the bandages and ointment, least of all to see him in that state.

When eventually he was allowed back to work, Greg functioned by shutting off his emotions. He was so sure it was good enough, sure that no one at the lab knew the extent of his damage, but they noticed either way. How he always wore long-sleeved shirts and kept his collar up now; that he'd no longer let them see him changing into or out of clothing. His smile was forced and never quite reached his eyes, no matter how comforting they tried to be.

#

"It must be the scars," said Nick firmly one day. The others nodded in solemn agreement. They were gathered in the locker room, the four of them; Warrick, Sara, Catherine and Nick.

"So we're in agreement?" he pressed, standing separate and resolute by a row of lockers. They nodded reluctantly. Nick had made up his mind to confront Greg on his own, but he'd quickly convinced the others as well. He wasn't the only one who wanted his friend back, tired of this hollow husk of a man they'd once known, but for some reason Greg's incapacitation was hitting Nick much harder than he'd anticipated. He hadn't realized before how much they relied on Greg's quirky humour to get them through their sometimes morbid job.

Greg walked into the locker room at that moment, eyes distant as they always were now. His shoulders slumped with weariness from the long day and the constant pressure of keeping up a pretense of wellness. Nick's rock-hard gaze stopped him short and his face became warily expectant.

"What?" he asked, resuming his walk to his locker, back now stiff with everyone's eyes on him.

"Greg we're worried about you," started Catherine. She glanced at the others uncertainly before continuing, "We want the old you back..."

Greg's hand froze on the handle of his locker. He gripped the lock tightly, knuckles almost white, then let go abruptly. Did they think he didn't want himself back? He dropped his hands in a gesture of defeat, but his back was still tense and stiff with discomfort. "I'm fine," he said finally.

"Cut the crap, Greg," exclaimed Nick with uncharacteristic heat. "You're not fine. Haven't been since the explosion."

Greg's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Just stay out of it, ok?"

Nick stepped forward, hands also balled up. The others stepped back, sensing perhaps that Nick's anger extended beyond their own. He was really worked up.

"You're not the only one who's been through shit, Greg!" he practically shouted at his back. "Stop acting like a victim and go get some help!"

Greg didn't respond, but had they been standing in front of him they'd see the tears that were slowly building up in his eyes and the anguished expression on his face. "Just leave me alone, please," came a strangled plea.

Nick took another step towards Greg, eyes softening a little. "Is this about your scars?"

Greg flinched visibly as if Nick had slapped him, but as obvious as the answer was to everyone now, he shook his head to the negative.

"Talk to us, Greg," sighed Sara. "We don't care, really —"

"Just leave me alone!" Greg made as if to turn away, to step towards the door and run away from their scrutiny, but it was the last straw for Nick. He lunged towards Greg's retreating back, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him back.

"You think we care about your fucking scars?" shouted Nick. "Well let's see them!"

Greg spun around with Nick's violent jerk, losing his balance in shock and twisting to the ground with a sharp cry. He turned his face away from them quickly and covered it with his hands so they couldn't see him tear up. He cried so easily lately; something he'd never used to do. What did they know about what he was going through? Suddenly he couldn't take it anymore — now that Nick had broken the spell, spoken the words that proved they all knew what he was desperately trying to hide. He broke down then, there on the floor in front of everyone he cared about. The pity on their faces was excruciating; his shame couldn't be contained anymore.

But Nick's anger was out of control and he wasn't about to be stayed. He did something then that none of them could believe. Reaching out to the body at his feet, he grabbed a hold of Greg's shirt and pulled. It tore with an audible snap and Greg cried out in panic, clutching his head tightly. He lay on the floor, legs splayed out, face pressed down and covered by his hands, but his muffled sobbing could still be heard.

Nick froze and stared regretfully down at the strip of Greg's shirt he was holding, adrenaline gone as quickly as it had flooded him. The team gaped at the huddled body of their friend, frozen in disbelief at how far Nick had gone. Greg's arms and back were completely exposed, and for the first time they understood.

Mottled skin, puckered in places and bone white in others extended from his lower back up to his neck and all down both arms. A large twisted scar ran up one side of his body, which was shaking with the suppression of his sobs. He still hid his face from them, but his body lay in defeat on the floor, showing all they needed to see.

"Scars are our way of proving we've survived all of life's hurdles," said Sara finally.

"The entire city thinks you're a hero," piped in Warrick.

Greg said nothing, but he'd stopped shuddering and now lay clutching what was left of his shirt close to his body, muscles tense and stretched tight over his thin frame.

Catherine jerked his head toward the door abruptly, and the rest of them understood. They filed out silently, followed by Catherine who gave Nick a look that said clearly, 'You started this, you fix it!'

The door shut with a clang and Nick was left alone with the motionless Greg. He felt a pang of sympathy and remorse for putting Greg through this. It probably hadn't been a very good idea. Sighing, he removed his jacket and laid it down on the bench beside Greg. He slowly made his way closer, grateful that Greg wasn't running away. Finally he was standing right beside him and slowly started kneeling down beside his head.

Nick didn't know what to say or do. All he could feel was a powerless desire to help — somehow! He just wanted his friend back; the one he used to joke around with and talk to in the wee hours of the morning. It was a selfish desire, of course. Greg must be dealing with a lot, but he needed to get help.

Nick held out a hand tentatively, unsure if it was appropriate, but he really didn't think Greg could get to a lower point. He gently placed his hand on Greg's back, right at the worst of the burn marks. Greg recoiled as if struck.

"Greg these scars don't change who you are," he murmured quietly. "Don't let them change you. For me?"

"I just want my friend back," he sighed again. He stroked Greg's back, trying to comfort him, and it seemed to work because Greg was slowly rising to his hands. His face was still cast down in uncertainty.

"I can't stand to look at myself in the mirror anymore," came a barely audible voice, heavy with disgust. "Who would want me?"

"We've seen you too, Greg, and it didn't bother us," replied Nick. His fingers traced the outline of a scar along Greg's shoulder until it disappeared into his hairline. "I don't mind..."

Greg shivered slightly. He half turned to look at Nick. They were both uncomfortable now, but Nick had committed himself, and unbounded loyalty to his friends would make him stay the course, even if this was a highly inappropriate way to interact with a co-worker. There was something in Greg's eyes that begged for it. Nothing overt, but a longing for someone to disprove what he'd been convincing himself of.

So Nick kept his arm on Greg's shoulders, firm in his support, and unwavering in his gaze. Slowly Greg relaxed, his face losing its usual guardedness; and fast now his walls came crumbling down. He looked so lost; so wounded by all he'd been through. Greg leaned forward imperceptibly, only Nick felt it through the arm around his shoulders. Nick guided him straight into his arms and enfolded him in a tight hug. With his other hand he grabbed his jacket from the bench and slung it around Greg's shoulders, gently covering his shivering frame. Then Nick enfolded him once more, strong arms telling him everything would be all right.

For his part Greg thought only that he was grateful for the comfort, that his silent cries for help had been answered. He buried his face in Nick's shoulder and let the tears flow, a quenching downpour he hadn't allowed himself before. The shirt would be wet, but he didn't care. Nick rubbed soft circles on Greg's back; mindful of the ever-present scars.

"I'm sorry about all this," he whispered, shame forming a lump in his throat at hearing Greg's tortured sobs. "I shouldn't have done this to you — in front of everyone, when you weren't ready. I had no right to touch you."

Nick hung his head, wondering what madness had taken him over to take such liberties with someone else's privacy and body. Was it acceptable? Never for the criminals they hunted, and never between friends, surely. The only excuse he could muster was his overwhelming concern for Greg and desire to have him back. A sick feeling developed in the pit of his stomach at the thought of what he'd done to one of his best friends.

Greg was shaking his head in Nick's shoulder, though. He still wouldn't look up but Nick could hear his low whisper.

"No, thank you, Nick. I needed it..."

Nick held Greg close for a long time, patting his back. Finally, Greg pulled away and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Nick stood up before the situation could become more awkward, quickly going to his locker and retrieving a clean shirt; a little too big for Greg probably, but it would have to do. Greg smiled thankfully, taking it and clutching it to his chest. Nick realized he probably wanted privacy and walked to the end of the room, back turned. With one hand on the door handle, he looked back at Greg, who was sitting up and now had the shirt over his head. When it slid down and hid his flesh once more, Greg looked up at Nick with a small smile, eyes alive for the first time in weeks.

It was a start, at least. It said he was willing to work on this, that he knew his friends were there for him, and that he'd accept help, most importantly. Nick left the locker room and closed the door behind him, unsurprised to see that Catherine had been guarding it so no one would interrupt them. He nodded to her questioning look. With a smile of thanks, he clapped his hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Greg would be all right, after all.


End file.
